


Don't Mess With the Flow, Oh No

by HalfFizzbin



Series: Girdle!verse [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur and Merlin being bro-married, Established Relationship, F/M, Gwaine being totally cheesy and gross, Humor, M/M, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfFizzbin/pseuds/HalfFizzbin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon the successful return of Merlin and Gwaine from their beheading adventure, Arthur begins to notice perplexing deviations from the status quo. (Or: I stole the title from High School Musical lyrics because Arthur is Chad)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Mess With the Flow, Oh No

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to Livejournal under the name minor_fifth—don't worry, that's me :)

Arthur wasn’t obsessed. He was the king, and kings didn’t obsess about the whereabouts of their subjects—particularly not when those subjects were vulgar knights or insolent servants. 

So of course, there was absolutely a separate, legitimate reason for Arthur to be standing on the battlements, leaning on the wall overlooking the courtyard. He wasn’t waiting for the first flash of a red cape or a stupid blue handkerchief, or the first sound of hoofbeats on the cobblestones. 

He was simply taking in some air, that was all.

“Any sign of them yet?” Gwen asked anxiously, appearing suddenly at Arthur’s side. 

“I’m taking in some air,” said Arthur stubbornly.

“Oh, Arthur, of course you are,” she soothed. “Only, the sun’s almost gone down, and if they were going to arrive today they probably would have by now. Come inside, let’s have supper.”

“I have no idea whom you could be referring to,” Arthur said, casually standing up on his toes to try and peer past the walls of the citadel.

“Have you heard anything? Are Merlin and Sir Gwaine back?” Lancelot’s voice came in a nervous rush as he appeared at Arthur’s other shoulder. “That is, I mean to say… watching the sunset, my lord?” He cleared his throat. “Except that I’ve recently been wondering whether… whether it might be too late for…” Lancelot’s voice was wavering suspiciously. “Too late for seeing the sunset, if you understand my meaning, what with it having been nearly two weeks, and…”

Arthur wilted, pillowing his head in his folded arms. “I’m… I just want _air_ ,” he said, his voice breaking pitifully.

“Oh, _Arthur_ ,” said Gwen, thickly, “I know, sweetheart. I know.” 

“Arthur,” said Lancelot. He tapped the back of Arthur’s head, gently.

“Stop trying to comfort me, Lancelot, I feel like a noblewoman.”

“What? No, I just meant—Arthur. Arthur, _look!_ ”

Arthur straightened, and looked. 

Two horses—one Gwaine’s, one unfamiliar roan—were picking their way across the courtyard in a manner that seemed to Arthur to be entirely too smug. Lancelot laughed, weak and overwhelmed, and hugged Arthur around the shoulders. Gwen, tears already soaking the neckline of her dress, kissed Arthur wildly before throwing her arms around Lancelot’s neck.

Atop the horses in the courtyard sat a misguided knight and a delinquent manservant, the latter of whom was smiling widely and waving up at them like a simpleton. Arthur let out the breath that he’d been holding for the past two weeks, and waved back.

“Damn it,” he breathed, grinning. “I thought I was finally rid of those idiots.” He squinted. “What… what on _earth_ has Gwaine got around his neck?!”

~*~

“Arthur, you should have _seen_ Gwaine,” Merlin rambled at their celebratory supper later that evening. He was pouring another round of wine, sloshing a bit onto the tablecloth each time he tipped the wineskin (not that anyone was in any condition to notice). “Brilliant, I’m telling you. All chivalry and honor and all that rot.”

“It isn’t _rot_ ,” Arthur bristled. “It’s the code by which we all must live, if—”

“Yes, whatever,” said Gwen dismissively. “So Merlin, tell us about the deer monster again.”

“No, tell us how you survived the ax,” Lancelot slurred, pointing at Gwaine with his overflowing goblet. “You haven’t gotten to that part yet. How did you uphold the code and survive?”

“If you didn’t uphold the code, we’re okay with that too,” Gwen assured him. “We all prefer your head where it is.”

“Yes, you have a wonderful head,” offered Merlin with a ridiculous, sly-looking grin. “I’m fond of it. Mustn’t go losing it now.”

“Is that why you are wearing that bloody ridiculous rag around your neck, Gwaine?” asked Arthur. “Is it to keep your head from falling off?”

“Not to keep my head, your majesty. To keep my heart!” declared Gwaine, and Merlin, nonsensically, flushed deep pink and succumbed to a fit of the giggles.

“But you must tell us how it was!” urged Lancelot. “We’ve been out of our minds with worry here, thinking there was no way out of this for you.”

“Yes, Gwen and Lancelot were utter wrecks,” Arthur said. “Inconsolable.”

“It was… it turned out to not be real,” Gwaine explained. “The threat, I mean. I was never in danger.”

“But of course you were in danger!” Arthur cried. “There was a giant warlock with a giant ax, how could you not have been in danger?”

“The warlock never wanted to harm us,” Gwaine said, speaking slowly, carefully. “It was a test. For us, and for your court.”

“Yes, he was a _good_ warlock,” Merlin put in with a huge, silly, drunken smile. “He liked us. We liked him too. Except his wife tried to shag Gwaine, but that turned out all right in the end.”

“ _Anyway,_ ” said Gwaine, smiling fondly and tucking a stray tuft of hair behind Merlin’s overlarge ear (another of his outrageously affectionate, friendly gestures that Arthur thought were a bit over the top, but Merlin seemed to soak up like a sunshine-starved fern). “You should know that we passed the test, and that we have nothing to fear from the green knight.”

“But… a _good_ warlock?” Arthur frowned. “He was giant. And green. And could live without a head, like an earthworm. He couldn’t be…”

“Arthur,” Lancelot admonished, though for what Arthur wasn’t sure.

“Earthworms don’t have heads,” said Merlin distantly. He was staring at Arthur, narrow-eyed and wary. “I think they just have mouths.”

“He couldn’t be what, Arthur?” Gwaine said, suddenly sounding much closer to sober. “A good knight? A good man? Human?”

“Gwaine,” said Lancelot, warningly. “Arthur is only—”

“Well, _honestly_ , human seems like a bit of a stretch, when you can _take off your own head,_ ” Arthur interrupted. “I’m just glad he spared your lives, whatever the reason. I hope I never see another sorcerer in Camelot as long as I live.”

Merlin made a small, hurt sound, and seemed to collapse sideways onto Gwaine’s shoulder. 

“Merlin,” Gwen said worriedly, reaching over to feel his forehead, “are you all right?”

“Gwaaaaine,” sighed Merlin, his eyes sad and out of focus—listless, like Merlin almost never was (maybe he was a sad drunk). “Gwaine. Could you help me get to bed?”

Gwaine smiled down at him warmly. “Always, my friend,” he murmured, hefting Merlin up and pulling him against his side. “May we retire, your majesty?” he requested, his voice suddenly curt and cold.

“I… yes, of course.” Arthur attempted a smile. “Goodnight.”

Gwaine nodded formally in reply, and then all but carried Merlin out of the room.

“What on _earth_ ,” said Gwen. Arthur massaged his temples against an oncoming headache, trying to ignore the feeling that he had just regained something only to lose it again.

~*~

Things were a bit tense in training the next morning, and it wasn’t only because of Arthur’s hangover. Lancelot kept glancing sideways at him with big, brown, betrayed eyes, like Arthur had just drowned a sack of kittens. Gwaine, on the other hand, was less circumspect.

“You are an ass, sire,” he told Arthur cheerfully, before scoring an irritatingly clean hit to his breastplate. 

“And you look ridiculous,” Arthur countered. It was true. Gwaine had still not taken off the frayed blue scarf that he had been wearing last night. Arthur was almost too jaded with Gwaine’s provincial eccentricities to even address the many and varied ways his best knight kept breaking protocol. Almost. “That rag you’re wearing isn’t part of your uniform, and it’s unseemly. Take it off.”

“Never!” laughed Gwaine, wheeling about to swat Arthur’s behind with the flat of his sword.

“You—you—” Arthur took advantage of Gwaine’s raucous laughter by sweeping him behind the legs and pinning him to the ground with his knee. “Take it off, _now._ You look like a ponce.”

Still laughing, Gwaine let himself fall backward, his helmet clanking on the ground. “Maybe I like looking like a ponce,” he said, with a wink over Arthur’s shoulder. “Morning, Merlin!”

“Gwaine,” Merlin nodded, his lips twitching. He tossed Gwaine an apple. “I thought you promised to beat Arthur in training today.”

“Where’s _my_ apple?” Arthur pouted. He was hungry too.

“I nearly had him, darling, I swear,” said Gwaine through a mouthful of apple. He was still reclining on the ground, up on one elbow. “Best two out of three.”

“I’ll be watching,” said Merlin with a smirk. He produced another apple and took a big bite.

“Merlin, did you bring anything for me to eat?” Arthur paused, frowning. “Wait, what did Gwaine just call you?”

“You’ve already had your breakfast,” said Merlin brusquely. “Take him down, Gwaine.”

Arthur didn’t understand it, and he couldn’t prove it, but he could swear that his sword was impossible to handle for the next few rounds—hot as a brand one minute, slippery as satin the next. Needless to say, Gwaine _did_ take him down, quite easily and humiliatingly, and Arthur felt like everyone in the world was against him.

“Everyone hates me and I don’t know why,” he blurted out to Gwen that afternoon after pulling her into an alcove.

Gwen sighed. “Oh. I thought you were dragging me in here to have a snog.”

Arthur squinted at her. “But. We have an actual bedroom now,” he reminded her. “Where our bed is. That we share. We’re _married_.”

“Yes, but…” She smiled, sweet and sly at the same time, and Arthur fell in love with her again (this happened daily). “I like the alcoves. Remember that time, last summer?”

Arthur remembered, all right. “Well, we could still—”

“No, no, this is you opening up about your feelings. That’s almost as exciting, and infinitely more rare. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Merlin and I used to be…” Well, Arthur wasn’t sure what they used to be. Certainly not _nice_ to each other, most of the time. “I don’t know, but he hates me now, and I don’t know what I did.”

“Merlin doesn’t hate you. You’re always bickering about something, aren’t you? I’m sure he just—”

“He didn’t nag me _all day,_ ” Arthur said, sadly. “About _anything_. I ate five drumsticks at lunch just to get him to lecture me about cholesterol, and nothing!”

“Arthur, dear, you understand that this is unhealthy, right?”

“No, no, you have to be more disrespectful about it, like, _Arthur, you prat, your blood is going to turn into pudding and you’ll be stone dead in a week!_ Like that.”

“Er, no. I meant that your way of showing affection is unhealthy. You and Merlin can be friends without one of you yelling at the other like a fishwife. I mean honestly, don’t you think you two have outgrown that?”

“He started it,” said Arthur, crossing his arms grumpily. Gwen snorted.

“Right,” she said, standing up on her toes to kiss him tenderly. “I’ll see you later. And do something about Merlin. He’s is a good influence on you, and not just regarding your cholesterol.”

Women, thought Arthur mournfully, just did not understand.

~*~

A week passed, and things were starting to return to normal. Merlin had gone back to looking him in the eye now, and sometimes Arthur even got a smile or a cheeky comment when Merlin poured his wine at the table. But he still felt a distance there, like Merlin was privately disappointed with him over something. Arthur didn’t think he had killed any unicorns lately, but when Merlin looked at him sometimes he felt as if he had.

“Come on, just tell me,” Arthur cajoled, not for the first time. “What is wrong with you? Just spit it out. You always end up telling me eventually.”

“Do I,” said Merlin cryptically, his head bent close over a broken link in Arthur’s hauberk.

“Gwaine and Lancelot are acting as though I’ve insulted your honor. It’s really quite sickening, the loyalty you’ve managed to trick my knights into showing you.” He nudged Merlin’s shoulder goadingly. “So what is it? It was when we were drinking that night, wasn’t it?” Merlin sighed, trying to pull the ruined link out of the mail. “All right, so I damaged your girlish pride somehow. Did I say something insensitive about your mother? I don’t think I would, I quite like Hunith.” He scrunched up his nose. “Terrible porridge, though.”

“Watch it,” said Merlin, but he was smiling now. “It’s just... I just had some time to think while I was away, and I’m not exactly sure how I… fit, anymore. In Camelot.”

“Fit? What? You’re meant to help me, obviously. That hasn’t changed, just because I’m king now. I still require you.”

“For sewing, and polishing, and bringing you apples?” Merlin asked archly, with a particularly vicious yank at the chain mail.

“Yes, for that, and also for… well…” He swallowed. “You’re really going to make me say this, aren’t you?”

The chain broke free with a mighty rattle, and Arthur jumped. “Hm?” said Merlin. “What _are_ you trying to say, exactly?”

“I would… not like it if you were gone.” In for a penny, Arthur thought. “I would go as far as to say that I would, possibly, miss you.” He coughed. “Probably.”

“Arthur.” Merlin smiled slowly. “Are you actually admitting that you like having me around?”

“I believe you heard me quite clearly,” Arthur said airily. He wanted to escape into the exercise yard and punch a practice dummy in the face. Merlin was being such a _girl_ about this.

“Arthur, did you…” Merlin stood up and looked down at his boots, and then right into Arthur’s eyes. “Why do you hate the green knight so much? After he treated us well, and let us come home, and didn’t kill Gwaine?”

“What? Are you _mad?_ The man interrupted my wedding feast, and waved a bloody weapon around, and then trapped my friend into a battle to the death that seemed _impossible to win._ ” He pointed at Merlin accusingly. “And then you, with your stupid misguided attempts at bravery, rode off after him without telling a single soul, _thank you_ , and the rest of us sat around wondering when you would be allowed back, if you were alive at all, whether the knight would spare one of you, at least, and which one it would be.” He sighed. “Gwen cried for days. The knights were all distracted and depressed. And nobody knew what to do if you didn’t come back. No one knew how to find you.”

Merlin looked guilty, which was satisfying. “I… had no idea. That you were so worried.”

“Gwen and Lance were beside themselves, as I said,” Arthur corrected. “I knew you would be fine.”

“Always am,” Merlin agreed easily. “It isn’t because of his magic, then? That you hate him?”

The question was a strange one, but in the spirit of appeasing Merlin, Arthur considered it seriously. “Well. It wasn’t the most inviting display, was it? All that blood. But if the man’s intentions were honorable, as you say…” He shrugged. “I mean, as sorcerers go he was positively barmy, wasn’t he? But not… evil. I suppose. Not really.”

“But…” Merlin paused, swallowed. “You always said that all magic was evil.”

“No,” Arthur corrected him. “My father always said that. And he was bitter and angry and sometimes right, but for the wrong reasons. And I looked up to him, and I thought he was a strong man, but I saw in the end that he was scared, and broken.” Arthur blinked rapidly, and longed for the practice dummy. “I decided when I took the throne that I wasn’t going to be like him. Not that way. I won’t ever let anything control me the way magic controlled him.” He looked at Merlin, who was staring at him with his mouth agape like an imbecile. “I know that you might disagree, that you have warned me about the dangers of magic in the past, but—”

“No!” Merlin cried. “I mean, yes. I did. But I learned… I was wrong too. And I think we should form an alliance with the druids.”

“What? _We_ , Merlin?” Arthur laughed. “Are you on my council now?”

“If I was,” Merlin said, grinning, “your advisors would see my superior wisdom and elect me King instead.”

“Can’t have that. I suppose I’ll have to keep you doing menial labor, then.” Arthur pulled Merlin into a headlock and rubbed his knuckles into his scalp, reveling in his indignant squawking. Balance was restored. “Speaking of which, stoke the fire, would you? It’s cold as death in here.”

“You’re right about that.” Merlin gave a shiver as he crossed to the fireplace. “I need to get another scrap of cloth from the seamstresses; I just know I’ll fall ill if I go around with my neck bare for the rest of winter.”

“What happened to that horrible one you were wearing last week? Did you lose it?” 

“Hm? Oh, yes. Something like that. And my others have worn through; I knew I should have brought more spares.” He began clearing dinner plates from Arthur’s desk, and then suddenly slammed one back down. “Arthur. Are there _seven_ drumstick bones on this plate?”

Yes, everything was as it should be.

Arthur was so content after their reconciliation that it took him until dawn the next day to put the pieces together. Merlin no longer had his stupid scarf. But Gwaine had been wearing a stupid scarf since he’d returned to Camelot.

Gwaine was wearing _Merlin’s_ stupid scarf. _All the time._ Like a token from a lover.

Now, Arthur liked and respected Gwaine a great deal, but suddenly he felt the same helpless panic and righteous fury that he had always felt upon discovering that a sleazy, philandering nobleman from one of the neighboring kingdoms had set his sights on Morgana’s bed. He took off at a run.

“What have you done?” he demanded, blustering into Gwaine’s quarters.

“Um,” said Merlin’s blearily. “What. What is happening.” He rolled his stick-thin body in a lazy stretch, and his nose wrinkled slightly as he winced. “Owww.”

Oh, god. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and willed the unwholesome thoughts away. What had Gwaine done, indeed?

“Oh, fine job, sire, you’ve woken him,” Gwaine was saying, jostling the half-asleep Merlin into what looked like a more comfortable position, curved against Gwaine’s chest. “He’s not been sleeping at all these past few nights, he needs his rest.” Merlin immediately began snoring softly, as if to prove the assertion.

Arthur sputtered. “You… you can’t… surely _you_ are to blame for any _lack of sleep_ on the part of my _innocent manservant—_

Gwaine snorted. “My Merlin is a great number of things,” he said, smiling fondly down at Merlin’s dark head, “but I assure you that _innocent_ is not one of them.”

“Well, not anymore!” Arthur pulled at his hair, distressed. “He is a country boy, and simple, and not used to, to—”

“You aren’t his mother,” Gwaine pointed out. Merlin made a soft noise in his sleep, and Arthur’s heart turned over.

“His mother isn’t here!” he said, sharply. “I am his employer, and his liege, and I am responsible for him while he lives in Camelot, and—”

“Yes, fine. Now, if you’re worried about my intentions, you should admit it, so that I can tell you that you have nothing to fear.”

“You shall leave my servant heartbroken and useless,” Arthur said, passionately, “and he’s the only one who can get my bathwater right, and smooth the lumps out of my pillows properly, and…”

“I won’t leave him heartbroken,” Gwaine scoffed. “I won’t leave him at all.”

“...and make passable stew out of any meat, and nobody else can get my doublet so clean,” Arthur finished. “So _see that you don’t._ ”

Gwaine’s eyes shot heavenward. “Very well. Shall I wake Merlin again and tell him that you have taken it upon yourself to defend his _chaste treasure?_ I’m sure he will be thrilled.”

Arthur blanched. “That will be all, Sir Gwaine,” he muttered, and fled.

~*~

Arthur was not entirely happy about this development. First off, the thought of Merlin having sex with anyone at all was an uncomfortable one; Merlin was like an enthusiastic child or an awkward puppy, and it just seemed _wrong_ somehow. On top of that, Gwaine was shamelessly flirtatious and also not very stable, which made him an effective and dangerous knight (and a favorite at court), but not, in Arthur’s opinion, a worthy match for somebody under his protection. He should have established a dowry for Merlin, given him more noble options; people did that all the time (maybe not kings, usually, but Arthur did not mind being a little unorthodox). How many other rakes and rascals had dallied with the poor boy’s easy affections while Arthur had been distracted with his own problems? Was Merlin being tricked? Was he being _forced?_

Arthur discussed his _perfectly rational_ concerns with Lancelot, who all but laughed in his face.

“Sire,” he said kindly, “Merlin is not one to be coerced. He does as he likes.”

“He’s only a servant,” Arthur protested. “And he’s always seemed content with celibacy before.” 

“Respectfully, sire, as someone who has practiced the lifestyle I doubt that Merlin was exactly _content_ with—”

“And Gwaine has some social standing now. He could be abusing that.”

“My lord. Really think about this. When is the last time you, the actual _king_ , succeeded in forcing Merlin to do anything?”

Arthur was forced to admit that Lancelot had a point. In fact, since the very beginning, much of their acquaintance had involved Merlin making _Arthur_ do things he would not normally do. “But what about physical force,” he pressed. “Gwaine could hold Merlin down if he wished, slight thing that he is, and—”

“And I really don’t think Merlin would mind,” Lancelot finished, and then blushed furiously. “Sorry, sire. Don’t you think you talk to _Merlin_ , if you are so worried?” He looked around furtively. “For that matter, aren’t there crucial king-like things you ought to be attending to?”

Clearly Lancelot was not in the proper frame of mind about this. 

Nor was Gwen, who giggled and cooed and quite traitorously exclaimed that the whole thing was _just adorable_. “You should speak to Merlin,” she added, once she had gotten over her initial rapture somewhat. “Don’t let this become another _thing_ with you two.”

Arthur (of his own free will and in no way coerced by Lancelot or his wife), found himself knocking at the door to the physician’s quarters. “I’m going to come in, Merlin,” he bellowed before entering. The warning was more courtesy than he was accustomed to, but he wished to avoid barging in on scenes like the one he’d interrupted that morning.

The front room was clearly empty, the various bottles and vials all in their proper places. Arthur was about to leave, frustrated, when he heard a snippet of conversation coming from the room upstairs.

“…going well with Arthur, actually. He seems… receptive.” It was Merlin’s voice, obviously deep in conversation with Gaius. Arthur opened his mouth, ready to call out for the lazy sod to get downstairs and stop gossiping about him, when he heard a second voice in reply.

“I need to be sure,” it said. A woman’s voice; clearly, not Gaius. 

So Merlin had a _woman_ in his room. This was puzzling, and for a moment Arthur wondered whether Merlin had been infected with Gwaine’s womanizing ways, and was compiling a harem of his own.

“If the timing isn’t right,” the voice was saying, “I’ll lose everything.”

And it was that particular cadence, the desperation and the determination, that set off the bells in Arthur’s brain. He _knew_ that voice, even though it was impossible.

He took the stairs at a run, jumping them two at a time, and threw Merlin’s door open just in time to hear him say: “It’s definitely time to make our move.”

He spoke the words into a large, shallow bowl, which he crouched over on the floor. And in the bowl, reflected in glassy, still water, was Morgana, who answered: “Thank you, Merlin. I cannot hope to do this without you.”

“What,” breathed Arthur. Merlin jumped, his eyes flashing yellow, and the bowl exploded into a dozen shards.

“Arthur,” he whispered, as if it hurt him to talk. His eyes were still glowing. He looked like a stranger. Inhuman.

“You… I cannot…” Arthur took a single, shaky breath. Then he drew his sword and pointed it straight at Merlin’s heart. “Get out.”

“Arthur, _please_ —”

“Get _out_ , I said! You will be gone by sunrise tomorrow. I won’t have you burned, because it would upset Gwen, but I do not want to see you in Camelot again.”

“You know me, Arthur, you have to listen—”

“You are a _sorcerer,_ ” Arthur spat, “and a liar, and a traitor and conspirator, and who knows what else. I don’t know you at all.”

Merlin stood stunned for a moment, looking _betrayed_ , of all the ridiculous things. “Yes, your majesty,” he said at last, and stalked out of the room, tripping over shards of clay as he went. Arthur collapsed against the wall, his sword dropping from his slackened hand.

Merlin, with his cheeky smiles and open affection. Merlin, with his nagging and his needling and his prodding—not a servant, really, but a friend (and not a friend, really, but _family,_ burrowed down in Arthur’s heart like a parasite). Frail and vulnerable and innocent Merlin, whose eyes glowed gold with power and who did not appear to need Arthur’s protection, after all.

~*~

Arthur was a wreck at training the next morning. He was not the only one.

“ _You_ ,” said Gwaine, the word dripping with venom. His eyes were as deeply shadowed as Arthur’s, and his sleeplessness was obvious in the waves of volatile, manic energy he exuded. He stalked past the other knights and threw his gauntlet violently at Arthur’s feet. “Let’s go, princess. _Now._ ”

He still wore Merlin’s token, re-tied around his sword arm. Arthur grit his teeth.

“You _knew_ , didn’t you?” he accused. “About Merlin? Are you one of them?”

“Pick up the gauntlet,” Gwaine growled.

“Do you wish to kill me?” Arthur asked. He meant to be mocking, but to his horror the question came out sounding quite sad.

“Oh, I _wish_ to,” said Gwaine, “believe me. I just spent all night holding Merlin as he _cried_ over you, you monster. It was _heartbreaking_ , and I think it might make me feel a bit better to run you through.”

Arthur swallowed. “If he regrets his betrayal, that is no concern of mine.”

“There’s been no betrayal and you know it, you bloody idiot.”

“I am still your king!” Arthur cried, desperate and lost. “How can you do this to me, turn against me this way?”

“You may be my king,” Gwaine said, dangerously, “I respected you, and I swore to serve you, and I meant it. But Merlin is my sun and my stars and my entire fucking _world_ , so don’t you _dare_ tell me where my loyalty belongs.”

Arthur stared, and a bark of laughter escaped from his throat. “Wow. That is revolting.”

“I _know_ ,” groaned Gwaine, chuckling through the tension and letting his sword drop, a bit. “Absolutely horrifying. I can’t help myself. I’m so in love with that boy that I’m sick with it.” He stepped over the gauntlet on the ground and put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur was, in spite of himself, comforted by the brotherly gesture. “I’m fairly fond of you as well, though,” Gwaine conceded with a sigh, “and you look utterly pathetic right now. I still want to break your royal nose for making Merlin cry, but I don’t think I want to kill you anymore. Probably.” He stepped back. “Pick up the gauntlet.”

“I’m confused,” said Arthur. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you, you ungrateful prat. Pick it up.”

Arthur did. “What is your challenge, then?”

“Stand there, shut up and listen.” Gwaine sheathed his sword. “Merlin is a sorcerer, Arthur. He’s magic. Do you realize what that means?”

“That he’s a traitor,” said Arthur. It hurt to say it. “That he is an enemy.”

“I’ve seen him bend the wind to his will,” Gwaine continued, “and shape the earth and _set bears on fire_ , but he mends your armor by hand because he’s worried he’ll harm it if he tries to take dents out by magic. Sorcerers twice his age are afraid of him, and he spent half of yesterday on his knees trying to get the soot stains out of the floor by your fireplace. Do you see what I am getting at here?”

“That Merlin is a particularly incompetent traitor?” Arthur said snidely, pretending that Gwaine’s words didn’t give him hope.

“Everything Merlin has done since he came here, _everything_ , has been to serve you. Waiting around for some scrap of recognition, some sign that you wouldn’t turn him away, if you knew who he really was.” Gwaine sighed and pushed his hair back, agitated. “To be honest I was jealous, at first, because, well… But it’s just his path, isn’t it? You must know that he couldn’t harm you.” He rolled his eyes. “Mercy’s sake, Arthur, just yesterday you were running into my bedroom to warn me off him like a panicked big brother. Please try to remember who we’re talking about here.”

Arthur felt his righteous indignation falling through his fingers like fine sand. “But, _Morgana_ …”

“Ah, Morgana.” Gwaine cleared his throat. “I share the blame for that particular surprise. She means you no harm, Arthur. She and Merlin were likely discussing a way for her to return.”

“Return… for the throne?”

“No, you git, return _home_."

Arthur's heart gave a wild, painful lurch. "How can she? Even if... how?"

"She’s been living clean since she disappeared. Merlin says she’s changed, he feels it. She wants to start earning your forgiveness. Gradually, of course.” He smiled. “Mind, Merlin forgave her almost immediately. But that’s Merlin for you.”

Yes, that was Merlin all over. And maybe, Arthur thought cautiously, he did know Merlin after all.

“So the way I look at it,” Gwaine went on, “you could either be stubborn and proud and lose them both, plus one of your knights—because, by the way, where Merlin goes, I go. Or…”

“Or,” said Arthur, feeling a strange lightness come over him, “I could just be naïve and stupid, and give everyone the benefit of the doubt, and things will pretty much go back to the way they were before everything got all bolloxed up.”

“That sounds _fantastic_ ,” exclaimed Percival, and it was abruptly brought to Arthur’s attention that all of the knights were standing in a line, watching them.

“Yes, I vote naïve and stupid,” Lancelot put in, grinning.

“Me, too,” said Leon. “I’m a bit wary of Morgana, to be honest, but I do miss her. And if Merlin says she’s all right…”

“Yes, for the love of God,” said Elyan. “All of this drama is making my head ache. Just _end it_ , already.”

And maybe, unlike everything else in Arthur’s life up to that point, it really could be that easy.

~*~

When Arthur found Merlin, he was still in Gwaine’s quarters, packing a small bag.

“None of those clothes are going to fit you,” Arthur pointed out, and Merlin jumped. 

“These are Gwaine’s,” he said. “I was just going back for my things, and to find Gaius. Say goodbye. What do you want, Arthur?”

Arthur took a deep breath and focused on a point beyond Merlin’s head, rushed and embarrassed and needing to get it all out at once— 

“I’m sorry. For pointing a sword at you, before, but also for not making you feel safe here. I’m sorry that I said I was different from my father, and then let you down. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. And most of all, I’m sorry that this is the last time I will ever, ever say anything like this to you again, because it is _not in my nature_ , Merlin, I am making a huge exception here, I hope you realize this, and I expect a very detailed explanation your powers, as well as an excuse for everything you have ever lied to me about, _ever_ , so unpack the sodding satchel because it is going to take a while.” He stopped briefly to refill his lungs, and added, “Also, Gwaine is going to court you properly, _with my permission_ , because I will not have a member of my household disgracing himself like a common strumpet. Though I suppose if you _had_ to take up with someone, he’s an all right sort.” He steeled himself, and finally looked Merlin in the eye. “Is that acceptable?”

Merlin was still holding a shirt limply in one hand, looking entirely overcome. “I… oh, _Arthur_ …”

“Oh no, no.” Arthur panicked. “No crying. Gwaine will knock my teeth in if you cry.”

Merlin sniffed valiantly. “Can I at least hug you?”

“Absolutely not,” said Arthur, but Merlin did anyway.

So maybe things would be a little different, from now on. But Arthur decided that the future he now faced—a terrifying future full of magic, and aggressively sweet hugs, and Gwaine and Merlin acting like besotted newlyweds all over the place—was still less terrifying than the prospect of a future without those things. Everything was finally the way it was meant to be.


End file.
